


THERE'S NO ME WITHOUT YOU ★

by noctambule



Series: Earthshine & Supernova [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura (Voltron) Lives, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst and Feels, Awkward Flirting, Canon Universe, Dorks in Love, Dreams vs. Reality, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Smut, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith/Shiro (Voltron)-centric, M/M, MMORPGs, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Mutual Pining, Online Friendship, Reality Bending, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Burn, Texting, Voltron: Legendary Defender Season/Series 08 Fix-It, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-11-04 13:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17898941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noctambule/pseuds/noctambule
Summary: «It’s the closest they’ve ever been and hereels, arm tingling where their skin touched.Say something. He doesn’t. He just...stares, because where else could he look and what else could he do, when the other has already sheltered his entire being in the midnight blue of his eyes? His frown dissipates. He’s so damn beautiful. Wild, raw, with a scar on his cheek that leaves Shiro feeling strangely hollow whenever he catches a glimpse of it. He always looks so fiercely aloof, but there’s a subdued hint of gentleness about him, a little jagged butthere, and it’s what Shiro sees in his stare. Curiosity. A faint question, too, and a sliver of awareness, as though he feels the same unnamed, visceral pull between them. As though they’ve already met somewhere, and known each other deeper than the confines of space.»





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> god, this ship. _this ship_ completely took me by surprise, and this is my first ever voltron fic after years of dragon age flailings. now please be warned that this is extremely self-indulgent. EXTREMELY. i live for fluff and i need to get it out of my system before these two completely ruin me. so sit back and enjoy this piece of sheith (!!), and please be gentle; i bruise easily.
> 
> ALSO. while this definitely looks like a college AU............ _it isn't_. it'll make sense as the story progresses, i promise. see that "reality bending" tag? _yeaaaaah_. it's a mess, but they'll get right back to piloting lion robots eventually. pinky swear.

 

  
huge thanks to [babushka](https://twitter.com/babushkaHiHi) for the beautiful art cover ♥

_If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied_  
_And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs_  
_If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks_  
 _Then I'll follow you into the dark_

 

 

[ KEITH ]

 

It’s the kind of dream he knows he’s dreaming. He dreamed it before and he’ll dream it again, and a distant part of him knows it by heart. It feels surreal. _Unreal_. It doesn’t matter; it hurts still, every time, and Keith’s grown familiar with the ache. He doesn’t know him, the guy with the scar across the bridge of his nose. His haircut’s ridiculous , but then again, Keith’s been called _mullet_  too many times to judge. It’s not. A _mullet_. It’s a shaggy mop of black hair with bangs a little too long, and it curls around his ears and it partially obscures his vision, like a shield against prying eyes. It’s not the only metaphorical wall he’s built around himself, but here, in this soporific illusion, there’s no hiding anything.

He isn’t sure why they’re fighting. The guy feels like a friend, _more_ —it’s complicated—but he chases after him and he sneers, biting words Keith can’t begin to fathom. His weaponized arm isn’t of this world, but dreams don’t have to make sense. Even Keith is different. His eyes flash amber, all rage and fury as he bares sharpened teeth, but he’s holding back. He doesn’t _want_  to hurt him, and it’s absurd—the other doesn’t miss a beat and Keith feels an exhausting sense of desperation seeping through his movements, tackled to the ground with a plea on his lips.

 _You’re my brother._ What? He doesn’t _feel_  like a brother.

 _I love you_. Oh.

He can’t let him _kill_  him, but instead of anger, it’s sadness he feels, and an abundance of fears. It’s a different kind of violence, deep-seated where it hurts the most; his heart’s sunken low, and it churns there, the sort of anguish that makes him think… _It’s you and me. Against the world. And I’ll never give up on you_.

It’s crazy. The guy nearly slashes his head from his neck and Keith wants to _save him_. His dream-self is a moron. It’s self-flagellation at its finest, but it tastes of something else, a bittersweet tang on his tongue. He can’t let go. The world crumbles around them and he’ll be damned if he lets him slip from his grip. It’s odd, this feeling. He’s overwhelmed by it, and as he helplessly watches himself struggle to support both of their weights, he stirs in his sleep. Moisture has gathered at the corner of his eyes, and awareness bleeds in; it’s deafened by his own hectic heartbeat and fists tighten at his sides, but he can’t wake up. He feels the guy’s hand in his, heavier by the second. The choice is simple; if he lets go, he lives. It’s as simple and as complicated as that, because he _can’t_  let go. It’s clear as day, in that moment. That guy isn’t just a guy. He’s like earthshine, a dull glow that lights up the obscure part of the moon. He doesn’t have a light of his own. It’s borrowed, but he blazes with his own gravitational center, and he’s pulled Keith in. _His  moon_. It’s an accidental collision, a fragmented casualty. He’s a part of Keith as Keith’s a part of _him_ , and his space is attuned to his. Keith revolves around him—they orbit around each other. It’s the world Keith chooses, even though he knows, distantly, that there’s something much bigger at play. Something he should care about—he _does_. Really. It’s why he’s torn, a dual affliction, and still he falls with _him_ , clutching his hand as the vastness of the cosmos engulfs them. He can’t take his eyes off of him, his emblematic universe, and they plummet down to certain death—if they don’t wind up crashing somewhere, oxygen is bound to run low, and he’ll suffocate on the frantic beat of his heart.

 _I’ll never give up on you_.

A growl echoes through him, akin to a roar.

 _You can’t give up on yourself_.

And he wakes with a jolt, bolting up in the dark of his room with fingers twisted sharp around the sheets, grief etched onto his face in tear-streaked lines.

_Shi…_

 

★ ✩ ★

 

He knows him. The guy with the scar across the bridge of his nose. _Earthshine_. It’s what he’s come to call him, in the privacy of his thoughts. He doesn’t know _know_  him, but he knows _of_  him. It was just a little over a year ago, the first time he saw him, Keith’s third year of college. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, with a contagious sort of jovial air about him. He hung out with the jocks because _of course_  he did, and Keith remembers the way he stopped mid-laugh to look at him. Just a glance, like something abstract had caught his attention in the periphery of his vision, but it lingered where Keith was, a double-take as laughter faded. Keith could have been looking anywhere else. The cafeteria was crowded, his arms overloaded with books, and he was merely just trying not to trip over his own feet. But he saw him. Just across the room, surrounded by what Keith briefly judged to be questionable company. They didn’t hold Keith’s attention; he did, with a stupid flutter doing that _thing_  in his stomach—he mentally berated himself for it and tried to look away, but Earthshine’s brows shot a little higher, rooting him there where he stood. He seemed amused. Not the mocking kind, but something fond, almost, as if he’d never seen anything quite as…

... _well_.

Keith’s been reluctant to put any word on what transpired in his stare, but he felt… _something_. No one had ever looked at him that way. Like he _existed_ , even in the midst of a colorful crowd. He’s always attracted the wrong kind of people, snickers and contempt and unnecessary jabs; loners tend to do that. He tells himself it doesn’t bother him; it’s a lie. On the outside, he looks the part. It was worse when he was younger—it’s more subdued now—but it’s still there. Tough, stubborn. And on the inside… It’s almost as if Earthshine saw right through him. Peeked through the cracks and decided there was something worth gazing at, but Keith didn’t wait for the glint in those curious eyes to shift. He left with a pointed frown, and never saw him again.

Until a few days ago.

He disappeared for a year. Came back with white hair and a missing arm. Military, Keith assumes, but it’s hard to tell. He’s changed. There’s a fainter glow about him when he stalks the halls; Keith’s spotted him a few times, and stared long enough to note that his smile isn’t entirely genuine. He hangs out with the same kind of people, but he doesn’t look like them anymore. He doesn’t act like them, either. He’s more withdrawn. Taller than he was, but smaller in the way he carries himself, like he stubbornly wields a burden he doesn’t want to share on his shoulders. He looks… tired. Mostly when nobody else is looking, like he finally allows himself a break, but Keith can easily go unnoticed

Not for long. Not with _him_.

He’s on his way back to his dorm when they cross paths again, when Earthshine spots him right back, immobile in the middle of the hall. Students breeze past them. Even now, Keith can’t pinpoint what it is—maybe it’s why he dreams of him. Because of the current that passes between them, two strangers, and he doesn’t know why he feels familiar. He hates himself a little for being such a sentimental fool; he shouldn’t mean anything to him. He _doesn’t_. But when his lips quirk up and frank, when his eyes shine with the motion, it knocks the air right out of Keith’s lungs. He’s just so damn _beautiful_. It’s not even just his face, or the broad of his body, or the seemingly permanent kindness in his gaze. It’s something else, something undefinable. Something he feels he should know but doesn’t, like an inherent sense of recognition that annoyingly eludes him. The inward cringe Keith tries to stifle doesn’t hamper the growing curve of his mouth. It’s not quite a smile—more like a hint of gentle interest—and the other’s face brightens at the sight. Keith thinks he should go. It’s almost too much to handle. Figments of last night’s dreams simmer just beneath the surface and he doesn’t want to feel like this. _This_ , which is essentially the same caustic gripe across his chest, claws out and heavy but ridiculously _softer_ , and he has no idea  how to steer himself through it.

He doesn’t. He turns abrupt on his heels, a scowl that’s entirely aimed at himself as he strides in the opposite direction. What kind of coward flees from a smile? _This_  loser, apparently, but as he finds his way back outside, it feels like he’s trying to flee himself.

 

★ ✩ ★

 

< **hunk** > : haha, whoa. i think keith just blew his own mind

< **hunk** > : man, you’re awesome

< **lance** > : okay, he’s not _that_  awesome, and are we just gonna pretend that i wasn’t there to back him up the entire TIME

< **hunk** > : no, no, sure you were, but i mean, you were kind of dead when he ended up solo’ing the last boss

< **lance** > : uh yeah, i was, because nobody was there to back ME up

< **allura** > : i knew you would successfully tame the black lion, keith. excellent work.

< **pidge** > : well, technically, there was no way to know whether the black lion would still solely respond to her former master. i mean, okay, given that he helped train keith before significantly increased his chances, but statistically speaking, i was a little afraid

< **hunk** > : aww, pidge, you know the power of friendship conquers all

< **hunk** > : and it was awesome!

“Not  _that_  awesome!” Lance reiterates behind him, eyes still fixed on the computer screen.

It’s not enough that Keith has to suffer through his daily college life with Lance McClain as his roommate—the universe apparently thought it wise to reunite them in the same game. Two different guilds—The Blades of Marmora and The Legendary Defenders—but they’re essentially allies, more so in the virtual world. He doesn’t dislike Lance. They bicker easily, and there seems to be some sort of competition between them that Keith doesn’t exactly entertain, but all in all, he’s a decent guy. Voluble, exuberant. But decent. He’s kind of a friend. They all are, but Lance’s the only one he’s ever seen in the real world, and they’ve all known each other for years.

Fingers drum against a dusty keyboard—he doesn’t bother acknowledging Lance. Better leave him alone when he’s sulking.

< **keith** > : i told you. as soon as shiro’s back, i’m out

< **pidge** > : i haven’t seen him online in about… four mouths?

< **hunk** > : oh god, oh no. that long? what if he never comes back

< **hunk** > : GUYS. WHAT IF HE NEVER COMES BACK!

< **keith** > : hunk, calm down. you know shiro. he’ll turn up when he can

< **allura** > : we don’t know him as well as you do, keith. has he said anything to you?

 _No_. And if he’s honest with himself, he’ll reluctantly admit that he’s kind of a little mad. It’s silly. He’s only ever known him virtually, but they’re _close_ , closer than he’s ever been to anyone. Or so he thought. Shiro disappeared without a word, a few months ago. They used to talk every day. Mundane stuff, but stuff that mattered, too. For _years_. Stuff that literally changed his life. Sure, he never saw his face. Never heard his voice. Didn’t think it mattered, but maybe it does. It’s a stupid thing to get worked up over. A stupid thing to allow anywhere near that guarded place inside him, and it hurts through the cracks, in ways he wishes it didn’t.

“Keith, buddy. You okay?”

He blinks through his daze, vision refocused on the screen; his group’s engaged in battle, and he’s AFK.

“Yeah, sorry.”

“C’mon, man. I’m sure he’ll come back. But you know he wanted you to tame the Black Lion.”

“I can’t lead your guild the same way he does, Lance,” and frustration bleeds through his sigh, a pang he tries to ignore as he joins the fray. “ _Did_.”

“Nobody asked you to. You can be your own leader, you know? Pretty sure he told you that too. I mean, there’s like… what. Three players who managed to tame her? Including you? Come _on_.”

“So you’re saying I’m a little awesome.”

“What? No! _What_. Waaaay to miss the point, Keith. _I’m_  awesome. Wish Allura would notice that.”

“Not a chance,” Keith shakes his head, an exasperated roll of eyes as his lips curl mildly amused. “I’d try to be a little more obnoxious about it if I were you. Just in case.”

“Yeah? You think she’d—HEY! WHAT’S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN!”

A puff of breath, and Keith lets out a faint chuckle—he remains relatively expressionless otherwise, a twitch in his fingers that he can’t quite rid of. He’s restless. Pondering things he shouldn’t—like leaving the Blades to officially lead the Defenders, but doing so would only give fuel to his fears. It’s irrational, but what if Shiro doesn’t come back _because_  of him? What if Keith’s choice, in the grand scheme of things, somehow cuts through the strings of fate and keeps Shiro right where he is. Wherever that is. Keith isn’t particularly sold on the idea of predetermined courses—he likes to think he’s the master of his own life—but he stupidly misses him and he feels like an idiot.

His brain figures it’s about the right time to conjure up a vision of Earthshine, and Keith soundlessly screams through a thin-lipped line, a fistful of thick hair as he rakes a hand through it. _For fuck’s sake_.

< **hunk** > : looks like the galra are pretty impressed! zethrid just asked how you managed to tame the black lion so quickly

< **keith** > : impressed my ass. she’s fishing for easy tricks, don’t let her fool you

< **hunk** > : why, are there any?

< **keith** > : of course not. it’s a matter of patience and focus

< **lance** > : sounds easy enough to me!

< **keith** > : by all means, be my guest if you wanna give it a shot

< **allura** > : you know we all tried and miserably failed, keith. that’s why we so desperately needed you.

< **lance** > : whoa, easy there. we were NOT desperate

< **pidge** > : we were a little desperate

< **hunk** > : yeah, a little. desperately desperate. we knew shiro’s right hand would succeed though, and you did!

< **keith** > : you know i can’t promise anything. if the blades need me, i’m taking red back with me

< **lance** > : you can’t do that! she’s my lion now, come on man!

“KEITH!”

 _Calm down, Lance_.

“I’m still gonna help and summon her if you guys need me. You’ll reach end-game unscathed, don’t worry.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair, _but who’s gonna summon Black_. Our ranking’s going to drop drastically if there’s a lion missing. You know that! And the Galra are gonna take over. Oh _god_. The Galra, man. Do you really want Zethrid and Haggar to take over? They’re gonna make the game unplayable for everyone, think about that.”

He does have a point. The Galra and the Legendary Defenders have been sworn enemies since the beginning, and the game’s mechanics give the players enough leeway to completely ruin it should they possess enough power _and_  ill-intent. If the Lions fell into the Galra’s hands, it’d most likely be the end of it all, a decade of fun, efforts and dedication thrown down the drain for thousands of people. _It’s just a game_. It’s not even real, like online friendships, apparently, but the sting feels tangible enough.

 _Stop making everything about Shiro_.

“Fine,” he ultimately groans, tossing Hunk a healing potion. “I’ll think about it.” It’s a grumbled promise but it’s a promise nonetheless, and Keith never fails to keep them.

He logs off a half hour later, Zethrid now freshly added to his Blocked List. It’s not the first time he’s blocked her. She’s loud, condescending, and definitely doesn’t have the game’s best interest at heart. He’s not entirely sure how she does it, but she never stays blocked for long. Considering that she’s most likely already cheated her way to the top ranks, she might be an actual menace, and Keith ponders what it might be like, to lead Shiro’s guild without Shiro.

The thought lingers as he showers, Lance’s outrageous screams louder than the spray of water. He’s PVPing, probably, and it’s a small apartment, with paper-thin walls and doors; one bedroom large enough to fit two simple beds, one small couch, two computer desks and an exiguous bathroom. They share the same wardrobe, but _that’s_  an overstatement; Lance’s taken over most of it, with clothes Keith’s never even seen him wear. He doesn’t really care. He has enough shirts and jeans—either black or red—to last him long enough between weekly laundry batches, and he’s not above wearing the same pair of pants a few days in a row. It fits the shaggy façade, he supposes, but it might be nothing more than the outward reflection of his own heart. It’s a little wild. Not quite neglected, but definitely messy. He’s stopped counting the scars, and for the most part, he can pretend they don’t even exist, but then he thinks of Shiro who _left him_  and they all surge back to life at once.

People leaving… He should be used to it. First his mother, and then his dad. Maybe it’s the reason why it’s easier to connect with people through a screen, or why he decided to pursue his studies in veterinary medicine. Animals are straightforward. There’s no ulterior motives to their behavior. No hidden agenda. Keith’s had dogs all his life—a couple cats, too—even while hopping from one foster home to another. They never let him down, and neither had Shiro, up until a few months ago. He did… so much for him. Helped him through his worst years, showed him that some people really did care. Taught him how to trust himself. But he’s gone now, and while Keith isn’t about to reduce the importance that Shiro’s had in his life to a mindless grudge, he _does_  resent him. He should have known better. He should have _said_  something, and Keith’s vacillated between worry and anger ever since.

Pain wins, ultimately. Plain. Forlorn. Like every other night before, Keith aimlessly browses his phone, curled up under the sheets. Lance never misses an opportunity; he asks whether he’s looking at naughty stuff, and Keith throws one of his pillows at him, usually hitting him right in the face. It’s their nightly routine. It’s silly, redundant. But it helps Keith ignore the swell in his throat when his eyes inevitably drift to the Game Messenger icon at the top left of his screen, and he clicks even though he knows he shouldn’t.

**_ ✩ Shiro - Last seen 134 days ago. _ **

He turns it off with a sigh, wondering why his pulse continuously and uselessly jumps every time he looks, as if filled with hope. But hope is a dirty four letter word, and _he_  should know better.

It’s never been on his side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and comments so far, your enthusiasm gives me life! big thanks to atlas_m_33 as well for being an amazing beta, and to manily for always indulging me in sheith things. happy birthday, dude.
> 
> don't hesitate to let me know what you think of the story so far, whether it be positive or negative. THIS NEEDS TO BE WORTHY OF THEM. enjoy the second chapter 8) ♥

_I WISH I KNEW THE WAY THINGS WERE BETWEEN US_  
_I'M PACKING A BAG OF BAD IDEAS_  
_EVERY TIME I'M THINKING OF YOU_

 

 

 [ KEITH ]

There’s another man with him. Taller. Maybe a little older. Kurt? Chris. Doesn’t matter; Keith doesn’t like him. His dream-self _is_ a moron, and a jealous one at that, but it doesn’t feel as vile as jealousy should. It’s more subdued, less assertive, and it _stings_ , like a wound that was never given a chance to heal. Kurt-Chris ogles Earthshine like he means _business_ , and Keith watches from a distance as his white-haired-kind-of-friend-who-tried-to-kill-him politely smiles back, a faint crimson flush spreading to his ears. Keith has no idea what happened in the gap between this dream and the previous one. They lived, clearly, or maybe they haven’t fought yet. Maybe the dreams are in the wrong order, because Kurt-Chris acts like he has a right to try and sweep Earthshine off his feet and _wow_ . Where was he, when Keith dangled in empty space, only his hand to hold onto Earthshine and his knife to try and hoist him up to safety? Where was he when Keith chose life, _death_ , and life again, anything to protect _him_ , despite what the universe demanded of him? _Keith, you found me_. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but as Earthshine awkwardly shuffles closer to Kurt-Chris, it really does feel like Kurt-Chris found him first.

He’s too late. It’s a vague certainty, deep down, too many words left unsaid. Or maybe Keith never belonged there, in Earthshine’s vicinity. _You’re my brother_ , he’d said, and as far as platonic assertions go, _well_ , this is it, but it’s not what he meant. It’s hazy in here, and his dream-self _reels_ , tries to find another reason to deny, to crush the last shred of hope clinging to the back of his mind. It’s a sentiment he’s familiar with, and yet he doesn’t know what he feels. He’s successfully blocked it out, but he’s not very good at ignoring its existence. It scares him. It’s new and it isn’t, and he doesn’t know what it means for them. Maybe he’s afraid of screwing up. _What a coward_. But it hits home in a way it shouldn’t, and awareness creeps in just long enough for one name to reverberate through his dormant consciousness.

 _Shiro_.

Keith winces in his sleep, fingers stiff across his arm as his rêverie drags on, obscuring reality. It’s an ache that physically haunts him, and it’s painful to witness. He shouldn’t be feeling the way he does. It’s misplaced, a secret he’s kept close to his heart for the longest time, but it’s the only truth he’s ever known. Brother. Friend. Lover. It’s all of that and _more_ and words escape him, but it made sense then, to call him family. It’s all he knew, and with Kurt-Chris leaning in to whisper sweet nothings in Earthshine’s ear, Keith loathes himself for being so emotionally destitute. It’s not that he doesn’t feel. He feels plenty, _too much_ , but he never learned how to properly navigate through it all, and Earthshine’s guiding light now gleams for another.

It’s trying to tell him something. The dream. Whatever _that_ is, and he doesn’t like the way his dream-self recoils, _wavers_ , blames himself. He wants to yell, _do something_ , but dreams have a mind of their own and dream-Keith settles for a bundle of old hurts. It’s become his cross to bear, so long as Earthshine is happy, and it’s wrong on so many levels Keith could die right there.

 _K_ _eith_.

He hears his name, a voice he recognizes distantly. It’s not enough to free him, and Keith urges his pseudo persona to say something. _Tell him. Walk up to him, the man you chose over everything else, and tell him._ The guy may have tried to kill him, and _okay_ , Keith doesn’t condone pining after murderers, but there’s a myriad of missing information here and he doesn’t care that nothing makes sense. This feels like a turning point. Earthshine’s about to leave with Kurt-Chris and Keith tries to force his dream-self to reach out, to no avail. He stays quiet. Muffles the scream that threatens to gash his throat on the way out, accepting the pain like it’s something he deserves. _You’re a fighter. Fight this!_ He doesn’t. It’s not his place, and Earthshine has done too much for him for Keith to rain on his parade.

What the hell does that even mean?

 _Keith, buddy_!

The same voice again, and Keith vaguely hears himself groan, a mumbled word in the crook of his arm.

“ _Shiwo_.”

“No, Keith. _Better_. C’mon man. Your grades aren’t gonna get any higher if you keep falling asleep in the middle of this class.”

Class. Grades. _Lance_ . He cracks his eyes open and lifts his head up, a string of saliva he’s quick to wipe off his chin with the back of his hand. The haze dissipates slowly, and he looks around in covert panic, silently thanking Lance. This needs to stop happening. The dreams, for one, and this urge to fall asleep just about anywhere. He’s healthy, apparently. Underwent a battery of medical tests when fatigue started hampering his daily life, but all results came back fine. Maybe there’s something in the air. Lance has been feeling off too, and Keith’s caught him yawning during PVP matches. _That_ isn’t normal, and his doctor suggested that a virus might be sneaking around campus. He doesn’t feel sick. Tired and weirdly drained at times, sure, especially after a dream. Shouldn’t sleep help generate some energy, or is that just an overrated theory? Instead it’s like it’s being sucked right out of him, and he refocuses on his lab report with a frown, the clang and jangle of pipettes against flasks splitting his attention.

“I thought you liked biology.”

“I _do_ ,” Keith grouses as he straightens up, a brief, piqued sidelong glance in Lance’s general direction. “These stupid dreams just won’t stop sneaking up on me.”

“Hey, you know what helps keep dreams at bay? Staying awake.”

“ _Lance_.”

“Wild concept, I _know_ ,” Lance smiles cheeky, and he’s one finger gun away from getting the back of his head swatted. “Look, I know you’ve got like, five more years of this before you become a full-fledged vet. I’m out next year, you’ll miss me, you’re depressed, _I get it_. But don’t let it get the best of you.”

“I don’t think that’s how depression works, Lance. And I’m not depressed.”

“But you’ll miss me, right?”

“Sure, I’ll miss you,” Keith doesn’t lift his eyes from his textbook, and it feels way too early to entertain Lance-flavored antics. Or too late? “Actual hot water when I shower, no stolen leftovers, no screaming and more space in the damn wardrobe. Whatever will I do when you’re gone?”

“...Okay, that’s fair. But hot water’s overrated _and_ it’s kinda bad for your skin, plus if I didn’t eat your leftovers you’d probably leave them to _rot_ . Besides, I don’t _scream,_ thank you very much. I just. Squeal. Loud...ly… Yeah okay that’s. _Worse_ somehow.”

“You do squeal. And it _is_ loud.”

“I don’t— _ugh_. Okay, here. Who’s gonna let you know when pretty people have their pretty eyes set on you and you’re too damn oblivious to notice, huh?”

“What?”

“Pretty guy, three o’clock. No, three o’cl—your left, Keith.”

“Three o’clock’s on my right, _Lance_. Like, right where you are.”

“Thanks for acknowledging that I’m pretty, but you know my eyes are already set on Al—”

“Will you just get to the point already. What guy?”

“Calm down! And look through the damn window, cheezus!”

That’s _nine_ o’clock, and Keith turns his head on a groan, cut short by the sharp inhale that follows.

It’s him. _Earthshine._ Dream white-haired guy,  and he does look rather dreamy. He stands outside with the strap of his schoolbag across his torso, and the moment their eyes cross, he promptly looks away, hand curled around his nape. It’s not even subtle, and Keith’s own gaze darts down. Whether it’s from second-hand embarrassment or diffidence, it’s hard to tell, but his heart pounds heavier in his temples and he feels ridiculous. _Why_ . It’s like a mantra in the back of his skull;  Keith’s clearly out of his league. Why’s he always looking at him? It’s a little silly, but it almost infuriates him. Almost, because deep down—and not quite so deep as to miss it—he knows he seeks those stolen glances just as much as Earthshine seems to. Maybe _that’s_ what annoys him, this… odd sense of interest. There’s something soothing about him. Something foreign and familiar, but breaching the space between them could lead to a plethora of possibilities that Keith isn’t willing to entertain. Allowing even just one more person in his vicinity brings him one step closer to disappointment, and he’s had enough people let him down to know better.

Still, it doesn’t keep him from risking another glance, and Earthshine’s right there with him, his gaze so soft Keith feels its warmth in his chest. It spreads, _flutters_ , and for one split second, the urge to break through the window and rush to him is nearly unbearable. It doesn’t last. He blinks quickly, as if emerging from a trance, sighs shaky and frowns, and just like that, Earthshine’s gone. Dragged away by what he assumes to be a good friend—not a jock—and Keith’s left staring at the empty space he left behind, fingers flexing restless on his thigh.

“You can thank me anytime,” Lance singsongs, and Keith slowly turns towards him, purposely avoiding his gaze.

_Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask._

“Do you, uh… know who he is?” Keith asks anyway, a nonchalant air about him that he doesn’t feel _at all_.

 _Nailed it_.

“Yeah, he’s in most of my classes.”

So a future teacher, then. What else?

But Lance won’t budge. He feigns sudden interest in the marks etched onto the wood of their shared desk—it looks like a couple of cats, tails intertwined—and Keith _waits_ , but patience never was his forte.

“Lance.”

 _Play it cool, Keith_ . He knows what Lance’s doing. He’s taunting him, trying to coax some kind of fervent response out of him. _You gotta be more in touch with your feelings, man_ , _and not just the caustic kind_ , he often tells him, but just because he _feels_ things doesn’t mean he has to broadcast them for the entire world to see. He _does_ feel things. A lot of things, all the time. Some of them are just easier to navigate through, especially when they don’t leave him bare, an open book filled with too many torn pages.

He waits it out. He _tries_ to. Lance’s bound to cave, and even if he doesn’t, it really doesn’t matter. Keith’s never been the kind of student that teachers fawn over, but he’s adamant on graduating and he doesn’t need a foolish crush to jeopardise his brittle focus.

A foolish crush.

 _A foolish crush_.

The words sink in and he glares down his textbook with a pinkish hue across his cheeks, fingers clenched around his pen. Lance notices. Of course he does. He probably feels it too—Keith’s so pathetic it probably oozes from his pores, and Lance has an excellent nose for idiocy. He’s smirking. Keith senses it more than he sees it, but then Lance leans in like he’s about to goad him a little more and Keith gives him the fervent response he was waiting for.

“Ow, Keith, come _on_!”

Nothing like being elbowed in the ribs to get someone off their high horse. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and Lance groans quietly. It sounds like victory.

“His name’s Takashi Shirogane, and _that_ really hurt.”

 _Takashi Shirogane_ . It rolls off the tongue in ways it shouldn’t, and Keith absentmindedly mouths his name over and over, halted by Lance’s unimpressed stare. Right. Don’t be that guy, Keith. Don’t be _creepy_.

“He left to join the army about a year ago,” Lance goes on, nursing his side with melodramatic winces. “To be with his boyfriend. Could have been pretty romantic if said boyfriend hadn’t dumped him the second he lost his arm.”

Wow. Who does _that_ ? What kind of callous bastard dump their boyfriend after they’ve left everything to _be_ with them? And all because of a missing limb? Talk about shallow. No wonder he— _Takashi_ —has been looking haggard. Mourning his arm’s probably hard enough as is, but having to deal with rejection _because_ of it?

 _I’ll never give up on you_. The words from his dreams echo through his mind, and Keith’s eyes drift to his hand upon the desk, palm up. It’s empty, and fingers curl around an absent weight he still feels somehow, a crestfallen wrinkle between his brows.

“Geez, don’t look so glum,” Lance playfully chides him, and Keith gives a small shrug, idly scribbling in the right corner of his textbook. “He’s fine with it, I think. It’s been a few months, and he’s adapted pretty well, all things considered.”

“You guys talk?”

“Kind of. I don’t know much. He’s a little older and he really digs mac n’ cheese. He’s into space, too. Stars. _Sunsets_.”

Emphasis on _sunsets_ , an obvious reference to Keith’s perpetual endeavor to draw the perfect one. He’s been chasing after it for months. The scenery is clear in his head, albeit a little blurry around the edges, but it never translates well onto paper and his sketchbook is filled with failed attempts. Still, that’s one thing in common, he supposes. However minimal. Even though _it doesn’t matter_.

“Probably enjoys long walks on the beach,” Lance adds with a snort, and he leans in again, not even watchful of Keith’s sidelong glance that’s grown dangerously suspicious. “He’s single~”

Keith barely moves his arm, but Lance takes immediate note of his elbow and retreats with both hands raised.

“He might have asked about you.”

Keith coughs on a few stray, hectic heartbeats, nearly swallowing his own tongue.

“What?”

“I mean, it _might_ have been about you, but you know, you’re not the only guy with black hair, or the only guy with a scar on his cheek. If he’d mentioned a _mullet_ , at least then—”

“Lance!”

 _Tone down the eagerness, Keith_.

“Okay, okay! He just wanted to know your name and what you’re studying, that kinda stuff. He was real smooth about it, too. And by smooth I mean really awkward. It was painful.”

He can’t help it. It’s like his mouth has a mind of its own, and his lips stretch on a faint smile, one that Lance immediately notices. He grins in turn and Keith doesn’t miss a beat; he rolls his eyes in the far back of his head, struggling to keep his pulse even.

“He still doesn’t know your name,” Lance says as if he means to reassure him. “I knew you’d probably bite my head off if I divulged anything private, so the ball’s in your court, buddy. He’s interested.”

 _Interested_ . It sounds like one of the dangerous words he banished from his vocabulary a long time ago. Like _hope_. His heart doesn’t care. No matter how loud his mind can get, it’s stubborn as a mule, and it pumps with the equivalent of a decade’s worth of lost opportunities.

Lance is gearing up to say something else when the professor announces the end of the class, and both their phones chime in unison. Keith doesn’t look. He recognizes the notification sound—it’s from the game messenger—and he stopped getting excited a while ago. What’s more, he’s a little _distracted_ , and his gaze automatically oscillates towards the window as he shoves books and pens into his bag. Until Lance gasps.

Keith stiffens with the sound, because Lance’s _gripped_ his arm and he won’t let go.

“Lance. What is it?”

He slowly looks up from the screen of his phone, eyes as wide as his smile, and Keith feels his throat close on an answer he already knows.

“It’s Shiro. He’s back!”

★ ✩ ★

He’s stalling. However cowardly his dream-self seems to be, _well_ . He’s no better. Shiro’s back. Asked everyone if they could meet online around 7 o’clock, and Keith has yet to RSVP. It’s 7:30. His dinner’s cold and he’s been glowering at the ceiling for… a while, immobile on his bed. He might as well have worked a few more hours at the local animal shelter he helps at, but Lance had kept texting him and eventually Keith caved and came back. His computer is still turned off. Lance keeps looking over his shoulder to glance his way, but he doesn’t _speak_ , not with his mouth. Exasperation dims his eyes instead and Keith huffs annoyed every time—he’s not even sure why he’s mad anymore.

He doesn’t know how he feels. A part of him is ecstatic. Shiro’s been an anchor in many ways, for the past several years. He was around when Keith hopped from one family to another, before Lance and co. came along. Keith had been such an angry ragamuffin back then, all rough edges with an attitude to match. Shiro saw through him, and from behind a screen no less. It took time, and Keith still isn’t what he’d call a perfectly stable human being, but he’s come a long way since his early teenage years and Shiro never gave up on him. Maybe it’s why it stung so much, when he left without a word. Caught him off-guard, because it was the last thing he’d expected from Shiro. He kept telling himself there was a legitimate reason behind it, kept alternating between dismay and rationalization, and now that he’s finally given a chance to understand what the hell happened, he’s stubbornly avoiding him.

 _Like a petulant child_.

He’s not necessarily proud of his behavior. Freshly 22 and he’s not above acting out, still prone to bouts of impulsiveness. They’re a lot less common now, but he feels cranky and entirely entitled in his right to _sulk_.

He vaguely notices that Lance’s stopped typing. Plugged in a mic instead, and static fills the room for a moment. Keith’s gaze cautiously drifts askance, where the noises come from. And he hears them. One by one. Allura’s voice, poised and dauntless and elegant. Pidge’s, as eloquent as expected, and young. Hunk’s voice sounds exactly like it should, warm and friendly, and then…

“Is... Keith around?”

 _Shiro_ . Keith’s breath _hitches_ , an unwelcome thud in his chest, and his mind goes somewhere Keith struggles to sidestep. Takashi’s smile flashes in his head as Shiro’s voice fills his ears, and it’s _maddening_ , as if his heart can’t quite figure out which way it should bend and how fast it should beat. It’s a dual sensation that prompts him to shield the upper half of his face with the breadth of his arm, and he grits his teeth, jaw taut.

“Uh, yeah, he’s… going to join us… soon?”

Goddamn it, Lance! Keith shoots him a glare from underneath his temporary cover, and Lance responds with an apologetic shrug, a mouthed: _He caught me off-guard, man! Stop being such a pighead already!_

A pighe— _well_. Yeah. He’s not wrong.

So he gets up. Scowls the entire way to his computer—which all in all, is no more than five feet away—brusque motions that are much too reminiscent of Lance’s theatrical antics… only angrier. He’s not really angry. A little miffed, sure, but it’s mostly a façade to hide everything else, things he doesn’t want to admit he’s feeling. Eagerness, for one. Dread, too, a nervous kind of anticipation. He’s missed him and he doesn’t like that he has, so he compensates with sighs bordering on groans, as if making a show of just how vexed he is going to change anything.

It doesn’t. It’s still all there, bubbling just beneath the surface, and hearing Shiro talk, _laugh_ with the others, does unpleasant things to him. Unpleasant in a way that’s entirely too sweet, and he doesn’t know how to cope with that gentle intrusion. It makes him feel vulnerable. Shiro’s here now, but what of tomorrow? Next week? What if he leaves again, after Keith’s embraced what he’s tried to deflect for years? What if he _stays_ , but doesn’t feel the same way?

The computer’s on, but he doesn’t speak. He listens, intently, while grinding in-game for rare loot. Shiro explains that he won’t be able to lead the team anymore. He’ll stick around, but work and school have made it impossible for him to dedicate as much time to the game and it’s all fair and dandy, but it doesn’t explain why he had to leave for so long in the first place. Keith’s tempted to ask, but he’s… reluctant to actually _talk_. It’s silly, really. They’ve all known each other for years, but breaching that virtual barrier oddly leaves him anxious. Keith surrenders bits of himself in meager doses, and oftentimes, people have to work for it. Shiro did. So didLance, to a different degree, and Keith’s learned to appreciate the others. But there’s still a screen between them, and it’s irrational, but he’s afraid of screwing things up.

They egg him on. Shiro’s relatively quiet, and at some point it almost feels like they’ve finally forgotten about Keith. It’s as liberating as it is upsetting and _god_ , Keith really wishes he could make up his own damn mind. The conversation shifts to something lighter. School. Christmas coming up in a couple months. The latest gossip about the Galra. Keith isn’t exactly sure why but Hunk’s started punctuating the end of his sentences with sound effects. The others quickly join in, which ultimately leads to an argument regarding… laser guns?

 _Peechoo, peechoo, peechoo_.

Uh, no, Pidge. That’s not what a laser gun sounds like.

 _Blam, blam, blam_.

And Keith snorts. _Out loud_. Something akin to a choked chuckle, and Lance’s mic picks it up easily.

“...Keith?”

Oh, shit.

It’s quiet all of a sudden, except for his _pulse_ , and he freezes on his chair as Lance turns around and gestures like a possessed man, urging him to hook up his own damn mic. He does. With stiff fingers and a mouth too dry, a silent and deep inhale before he delivers what he hopes sounds casual enough.

“Yeah.”

“Aww, Keith!” Hunk exclaims, and Keith can practically _hear_ the smile in his voice. “Guys, it’s Keith! Team leader extraordinaire!”

“I’m not—” Keith’s already prepared to argue, but his voice trails off on a sigh, realizing that there’s really nothing to argue about anymore. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Keith, you have such a sweet voice!” Allura nearly gasps, and Lance’s quick to correct her.

“You wouldn’t say that if you heard it every day, trust me!”

“Oh, but we could!” Hunk cuts in, and Keith doesn’t like where it’s going. “What if we chatted like this instead? You know, it’s way more practical than having to type everything, especially if one of us is dying. It’d be good for Lance.”

“HEY!”

“What d’you say, Keith?”

“Um. I uh… I-I don’t know.”

Really? A _stutter_.

“Aw, come on! Don’t be shy. We’re all friends here, right? Guys?”

“Of course we are,” Allura pipes in, and the cacophony of their joint excitement leaves Keith with somewhat of a bitter aftertaste.

Shiro hasn’t said anything. Not since Keith’s spoken, and his brows furrow as he stares down his lap, distantly hearing the rest of them enthusiastically planning future chat sessions.

“Hey, Keith. Keith?”

He doesn’t answer Hunk. He feels a little stupid, if anything, and he abruptly leaves as Lance gives a half-assed excuse to cover him, but he doesn’t need Lance to fend for him. He doesn’t need _anyone_ , but as he bolts for the bathroom, the downward curve of his lips says otherwise.

All of this for nothing. He locks the door and leans over the sink, face lowered between hunched shoulders. This is a prime example of why expectations inevitably lead to disappointment. Why they hurt, like hope, like _interest_ . He lifts his head, catches the murky ache in the midnight blue of his eyes, and he _scoffs_ , knuckles white around the edge of the countertop. People _leave_. And no one should be trusted.

It’s not a particularly stellar motto to live by, especially for someone so quick to jump to conclusions. His phone buzzes in his back pocket. Once. Twice. Lance, probably, but on the fifth vibration, he fishes it out with a grunt and slowly sinks to the floor, his back against the wall. It’s not Lance. His eyes widen, his breath catches somewhere in the back of his throat, and he waits for the ground to swallow him whole.

< **shiro** >: keith, i’m sorry. you’re probably mad at me, for good reason. i did what i promised i’d never do, and when i finally got a chance to explain myself, i couldn’t find the courage to talk to you. i know you’d argue until you’re blue in the face, but you’re a lot braver than i am

< **shiro** >: keith... i don’t even know where to start. these past few months haven’t been easy, but you were on my mind every single day. i’m sorry i left. i didn’t want to, but i had to. i hope to be able to explain everything to you soon, or show you, if you’d like

< **shiro** >: but for the time being, know that i never meant to leave the way i did. i care about you, keith. you deserve better than the way i’ve handled everything and i swear i’ll make it up to you somehow

< **shiro** >: i’m sorry i went radio silent when you spoke. it was… really good to finally hear you, and it took me by surprise. it’d be nice to hear you again, if… you’d like that too. hear me, i mean. not... you. if you’d like to chat sometime, uh… yeah

< **shiro** >: i’m back, and i’m not going anywhere. i’ll be here when you are

He barely notices that his vision’s blurred. It’s _moist_ , and he shakes his head and he glances upward, sighing at his own pathetic dispositions. Shiro knows him well, and Keith hasn’t been very fair. He knows Shiro too, and still he judged quickly, as if Shiro could ever be like everyone else. Sure, he still has no idea what the hell went on, but it’s a start, and despite remnants of a heart battered one too many times, he cautiously opens what’s left of it, because Shiro is Shiro and it’s as simple and as complicated as that.

< **keith** >: why can’t you explain it now?

That… might have sounded a trifle too insensitive. He clicks his tongue, hurrying to type before Shiro gets a chance to reply.

< **keith** >: i’m glad you’re back, shiro. i just don’t understand

< **shiro** >: keith! hey. i... want to. but it’s not easy. it’s something i’m still trying to process and i don’t want you to think less of me

< **keith** >: think less of you? shiro... i shouldn’t even have doubted you, but something’s gotta give. i know there has to be a good reason why you left, but you can’t keep leaving me in the dark

< **shiro** >: i know. i’ll never apologize enough, and i don’t blame you for doubting me. i just need a little time, keith. if you’re willing to give me that

< **keith** >: are you alright?

< **shiro** >: yeah, for the most part. it’s been rough but i’m better now. i have no right to ask anything of you, but… will you wait for me?

_I’ll never give up on you._

< **keith** >: you know i will, shiro. just. don’t bail on me again. please.

His jaw tightens on the last word. _Please_ . As if begging him not to hurt him again, even though he knew all along, underneath the ache, that Shiro couldn’t possibly have abandoned him. He doesn’t like coming off as _weak_ , but Shiro’s never taken advantage. He’s always been the exception to the rule, and it’s almost too easy to mend the cracks his absence caused. It’s useless, with Shiro, to try and take it with a grain of salt. He carved himself a place too deep within his heart, and Keith can grouse all he wants; he never did anything to warrant actual rancor, and he was forgiven the moment he invited them all to join him for a chat.

< **shiro** >: i won’t. but you have to know, keith. i was never gonna leave for good. no matter what happens, wherever i go and however long i’m gone, i’ll always come back for you

It’s a promise, but it feels like something more, an unearthly vow that transcends the reality of what they are. In that moment, he feels him like he’s never felt anything before, an extension of each other as vivid flashes plague his mind. Shiro in a healing pod, inert. Keith’s fists against its glassy surface, tears down his cheeks as he commands him to wake up. _Shiro, please, fight. You can’t do this to me again_ . It’s Earthshine. _Takashi_ . For a fraction of a second, Shiro looks just like him and the two _merge_ , and it’s too much. Keith is jolted back to awareness, out of breath, muscles tense and cheeks wet, and he stares at his phone in confusion, slightly agitated.

< **shiro** >: keith?  you okay?

Ten minutes. He just passed out for _ten minutes_ , and he hastily wipes the tears off his face and he puffs out a shaky breath, slowing it down to calm his heartbeat.

< **keith** >: yeah. i haven’t been sleeping well, i think i just zoned out

Understatement of the _year_. If only it’d been a one time thing.

< **shiro** >: you always did push yourself too hard. take it easy keith, we’ll talk tomorrow, if you want

< **keith** >: yeah

He rubs at the side of his head, where he still feels the haze of his vision; his hand slowly drops to his chest, the thumps of his heart gentle and steady against his palm, and he feels warm all over.

< **keith** >: i’d like that

More than anything.

He goes to bed shortly after, ignoring Lance as he pesters him for details of their conversation. He doesn’t dream. For once, he falls asleep on a series of images that _he’s_ chosen, closing his eyes with his lips pulled into the faintest smile. He thinks of him. _Shiro_ . And as slumber takes over and confliction ebbs away, Takashi’s features blend with everything that makes Shiro _Shiro_ , and in the midst of everything else that doesn’t make sense, Keith thinks, distantly, that _this_ does.

 

\---------------------

 

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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for the kudos so far! your comments give me LIFE. don't hesitate to poke me if you have questions and/or suggestions. i'm really enjoying writing this, and i hope you're enjoying reading it!

[ **SHIRO** ]

  
  


They call it a phantom limb, but the pain is nowhere near imaginary. It  _ feels  _ real, a dull throb where his arm used to be, a twinge of inadequacy. He manages to forget, sometimes.  I n broad daylight, when he sits in class and the eyes of his fellow students are fixed onward, it’s a little easier. It’s a token of normalcy he rarely allows himself, but it never lasts long. Furtive glances are the worst. For how discreet they’re meant to be, they’re the most conspicuous kind of scrutiny, and Shiro feels reduced to the limb he ne longer has. To the man he no longer  _ is _ . He never should have left. One year down the road and what has he accomplished? A butchered master’s in astronomy, a spoiled reputation, a broken body on top of a broken mind  _ and  _ a mess of a relationship.

 

He doesn’t blame Curtis for leaving him.  _ I’d leave me too _ , he occasionally catches himself thinking, not without a bitter sneer. It’s a battle he constantly fights, oscillating between wanting to do the right thing and blaming himself for everything, and he’s yet to bury the hatchet. Curtis was a mistake from the get-go. It took some great, unintended self- convincing to believe that he was leaving everything behind to  _ be  _ with Curtis when really, he was trying to escape  _ himself _ . There  _ had  _ been some kind of infatuation, in the beginning. Strong. Carnal. But it never amounted to anything more. It burned quickly, if anything, a straw fire. Curtis had been in the right place at the right time, exactly what Shiro had needed after a broken engagement and an entire year of inaction.  _ Touch-starved _ . God, he’d lusted after him like a school boy, and when he thinks about it now, he  _ does  _ at least have the decency to blush. It never reached below the surface though, never reached what Shiro vehemently tried to prove to himself.  _ He could do this. He wasn’t going to fuck it up the same way he had with Adam _ . But he  _ did  _ fuck it up. He was never fully invested to begin with, no matter how hard he tried to be, and he faltered and it  _ festered _ , and Curtis dumped him like he should have  _ months  _ prior to Shiro’s arrival.

 

The relief he feels now is somewhat bittersweet. Curtis was never going to be  _ it _ , the one with a capital O, and it’s the greatest tragedy of Shiro’s romantic inclinations. It’d be easier if he could just have what his heart  _ wants _ , and there’s been… someone else. Shiro doesn’t know when his feelings morphed into what they are now. It’s difficult to make sense out of them, a repressed yearning that clawed at his sanity even before Curtis came into the picture. Maybe it’s what he was tryingto ward off all along. To  _ run  _ from.

 

_ Keith _ .

 

He must have been sixteen when Shiro first met him, and boy was he wild back then.  _ Supernova _ , Shiro came to call him, a private thing that he kept to himself. Keith had been, and still  _ is _ , a force of nature, unpredictable and mutable in its temperament, the four stages of a hurricane packed into one single person. It’s softened over time, eased into a new hushed intensity, but the admiration Shiro held for him back then never faded. Keith’s always been a fighter. Spurred on by the sheer will to  survive when he was younger, and striving to stand tall now, despite the scars his battles left in their wake. He’s thriving. Not without a struggle, but he pushed through. It doesn’t matter what he thinks Shiro has done for him. Keith’s always had it in him to flourish, to  _ conquer _ ; Shiro didn’t make him into the man he’s become. He was merely there for the ride, helping Keith see what and who he already was but refused to acknowledge.

 

He’s somewhat of an inspiration, even now, but he’s so much more than  _ that _ . It’s hard to tell, when Keith stopped being the kid that Shiro was so adamant on helping, unwilling to let him sabotage his potential. Giving Keith a hand had been beneficial to himself as well; all that bravery was contagious, and when Shiro wavers on self-doubts, it’s what he remembers. Keith, and his unbreakable will. Keith, and his formidable strength, despite his strife-ridden life. Keith, who ultimately started letting people in and trusted  _ himself _ , and forced himself back up every time he fell.

 

Even when Shiro disappeared.

 

He didn’t mean to. It’s his arm, mostly, a new reality that Shiro is still trying to tame. It’s a mix of fears and shame and despair, and every time he looks at himself in a mirror, he sees the ghost of the man he once was and never will be again. It’s easy to take life for granted from a pedestal. It’s where everyone’s always put him, a lonely mold he’s finally breaking through, but the ground is unstable. He can’t recognize the faces that used to be so familiar. They all look the other way now, as though he never existed. Most of them, anyway. Matt is still around, former roommate-turned-friend, pursuing a PhD in astronomy. It’s what Shiro would be doing too, had he never left, but maybe it never was his vocation. Maybe he never was what people saw in him, or wanted him to be. Maybe he’s finally being  _ himself _ , but he’s been free-falling ever since he lost his arm and it’s difficult to know on which foot he’ll land, if he lands at all.

 

Keith’s still there. It might change, when Shiro tells him what he did. How he left school for a guy he didn’t even love, sabotaging his future in the same breath. How he lost a limb because of a stupid decision he never should have made, and how it often keeps him awake at night, flashes of grey and blood and decay, body drenched in sweat and curled up on the floor of his bedroom. He feels like he’s let Keith down. He feels like a  _ fraud _ , because for all the wisdom and inspirational speeches he’s capable of, he behaved like a juvenile idiot. How is Keith ever going to take him seriously again? How is  _ anyone _ ? 

 

He owes him an explanation. He owes him the truth, but the truth comes with a part of himself he’s eluded for so long it almost feels unworthy now. Of  _ Keith _ . Chances are that Keith sees him as nothing more than a big brother, and that’s fair, all things considered. Shiro saw him as nothing more than a younger one for the longest time, until he didn’t. Until it shifted and grew, and hit him like a brick to the face. He still bears the metaphorical scar. Curtis probably saw right through him, all the things Shiro couldn’t admit to himself, and so instead of facing what transpired head-on, Shiro dodged and repressed, hurting three people in the process.

 

What a feat.

 

It’s not the kind of thing you brag about, when your golden boy reputation stalks your every step. How was he supposed to tell anyone that he’d developed some kind of… crush-thing-that-felt-more, for a guy he’d never seen  _ or  _ heard? That Keith seemed more real to him than anyone else ever had? He  _ couldn’t _ . They would have laughed it up, looked at him  _ weird _ , but all things considered, it wouldn’t have mattered, because that’s exactly where he’s at now. Stuck with a secret no one is interested in knowing, a mess of a half-broken man who is entirely too unsure as to whether he deserves the affection he seeks.

 

“Watch it!”

 

Wha — _ Omph _ . Shit. His daydreaming habits have caused him to bump into walls before, but never into a person. The voice is  _ gruff _ , faintly distant in a way that Shiro should remember but doesn’t. He’s too busy fumbling with the book in his hand to notice anything but the flurry of black and red in front of him, ribs still stinging from the accidental collision. He’s not sure who slammed into who, but he’s lost in mumbled apologies before he can even get a clear shot of the other, quick and clumsy gestures to try and help them gather pens and binders. They’ll blame his arm, or lack thereof. They’ll see him as nothing more than the inept mess he’s become, and Shiro braces himself for a glimpse of aversion as the other lifts his face up, but it’s not what he sees. He dives headfirst into a cluster of ember stars instead, and his breath leaves him in a rush.

 

_ Supernova _ . The guy with hirsute black hair and a permanent frown on his face, the same one that reminds him so much of  _ Keith _ , a quiet but tantalizing energy about him. Shiro’s book drops to the floor; he doesn’t care. Supernova straightens up, wide-eyed as plump lips part on a shaky exhale that Shiro can only guess happens, for how hushed it is. It’s the closest they’ve ever been and he  _ reels _ , arm tingling where their skin touched.  _ Say something _ . He doesn’t. He just...  _ stares _ , because where else could he look and what else could he  _ do _ , when the other has already sheltered his entire being in the midnight blue of his eyes?

 

His heart betrays him, pumping too fast, rising too high. It’s not the first time, but he looks at him and he thinks  _ Keith _ , and it makes it a little more acceptable, to beat so hard for a guy who isn’t really Keith. It’s a fantasy Shiro has indulged in for so long he doesn’t know how to climb out of it, because this  _ feels  _ like Keith, and it doesn’t make any sense. It  _ could  _ be him, in some reality that’s too good to be true. Keith’s always liked his privacy, and Shiro always understood why. The veil of anonymity protects him from further pain, and Shiro doesn’t pry, doesn’t  _ push _ , however much he longs to see him. He heard him, not long ago. So briefly he doesn’t think he could recognize his voice now, but he remembers the way it made him feel, a fluttery sensation in his stomach and a hot one across his cheeks. He feels the same now, with Supernova’s gaze locked onto his, and a bashful smile slowly stretches across his lips.

 

Supernova’s frown dissipates. He’s so damn beautiful. Wild,  _ raw _ , with a scar that leaves Shiro feeling strangely hollow whenever he catches a glimpse of it. He always looks so fiercely aloof, but there’s a subdued hint of gentleness about him, a little jagged but  _ there _ , and it’s what Shiro sees in his stare. Curiosity. A faint question, too, and a sliver of awareness, as though he feels the same unnamed, visceral pull between them. As though they’ve already met somewhere, and known each other deeper than the confines of space.

 

They move in unison,  _ drift  _ a little closer, a coy assessment of each other. Supernova’s mouth twitches, and he blinks, searching Shiro’s gaze. His bubble has become Shiro’s, and Shiro can feel his warmth, his  _ breath  _ on his skin, and he shivers with it, smile widening. Supernova returns it. It’s hesitant, but his lips  _ curl  _ and it’s the best goddamn thing Shiro’s ever seen. His heart beats where it shouldn’t. It’s dry in his throat, throbbing in his temples, and it deafens his senses and it heightens them; he doesn’t know anything anymore. He only knows  _ him _ , and he must have done something right after all, to wind up  _ here  _ at this exact time, the sole focus of the splendor before him. But something disrupts Supernova’s attention. It’s right there in the periphery of Shiro’s vision, and Supernova’s smile wavers and Shiro nearly shakes his head,  _ no, no _ , but he’s already looking askance and Shiro feels added weight around his shoulders.

 

_ Matt _ . 

 

“Heeeeey! I’ve been looking for you for  _ ages _ . Literally. It took so damn long you hair turned  _ white _ .”

 

“Matt.”

 

“Yeah, okay, not my best one, I’ll give you that… but the day’s young and I’m not done with you yet. So! Forgot anything, buddy?”

 

Yeah. Forgot to lock him up in his apartment before he left for school. If Matt notices the murderous glint in Shiro’s insistent stare, he doesn’t act on it. Instead he gives Supernova a blatant once-over when Shiro says nothing more, and a slow grin tugs at the corner of his mouth.

 

“Ohhh, I get it now,” he drawls, and Shiro’s face catches fire as Supernova’s quickly dips down.

 

“Matt—”

 

It’s a plea and a warning, but Matt waves him off, leans in and cranes his neck, as if to encourage Supernova to look back up. He does. His frown’s back in full, but it’s not the same, a ruddy hue spreading across his nose. Shiro’s never been one to squeal, but he’s fairly certain it’s the sort of sound that would come out of his mouth if he opened it again.

 

“Sorry to break the spell, but this hot stud here’s gonna be late for his exam,” Matt tells Supernova with the kind of casualness that only  _ he  _ can pull off in just about any circumstance. It’s almost infuriating, and Shiro briefly palms his face, wishing his hand could hide the entirety of his body. “You can get back to ogling each other in about… two and a half hours. Aigh’t? See ya!”

 

And just like that, Shiro’s reluctantly dragged away—as he always seems to be whenever he finally manages to catch  Supernova’s attention—but there’s a part of him that stays behind, and maybe it’s why his heart beats a little fainter.

  
  


 

★ ✩ ★

  
  


 

 

[ **KEITH** ]

 

_ Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space _ , by Carl Sagan. The corners of the book cover are a little worn. Some pages are wrinkled, some others are torn; it’s been carried and read on multiple occasions, with a distinct stretch in the spine near the middle. Earthshine’s — _ Takashi’s _ — favorite passage, most likely, and Keith’s lost count of how many times he tentatively skimmed over the lettering with the tip of his fingers. It’s just a book. Keith has his own copy — hidden somewhere under a pile of Lance’s clothes, probably —but when he holds Takashi’s in the crook of his palms, it becomes something else. Something infinitely more precious, a glimpse of the person he is beyond the magnetic pull of his physical appearance, and a potential intermediate between them should Keith ever find the right words to approach him.

 

_ But what are those _ .

 

He almost walked  _ past _ , a few seconds after Takashi disappeared from his global vision, his heart still in overdrive. He doesn’t even remember him dropping a book; it’s vague in his head, eclipsed by the obsidian glint in Takashi’s gaze, just above the radiance of a coy smile. Keith nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of it. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe him, and Keith struggles with the duality of his sentimental dilemma.  _ Shiro _ . It’s who he thinks of every time Takashi pops in his head, and vice versa, as if Shiro’s irrevocably borrowed his face. But it’s not all there is. The universe has a sick sense of a humor, and to add insult to injury, Keith knows for a fact that Shiro’s favorite book just so happens to be the one in his hands. 

 

What were the goddamn  _ odds _ , honestly?

 

“Keith, buddy.”

 

“Hmm?” Keith distantly acknowledges Lance, idly clicking his mouse as he turns the book in his free hand, looking for a hint of  _ anything _ .

 

“Did you just… try to get a whiff of that book?”

 

“What?” Keith straightens instantly, blinking quick around a newfound frown, and he clears his throat and he refocuses on the screen before him, covertly dropping the book next to his keyboard. “I didn’t—”

 

“Oh, shit. Focus, man! Zethrid’s about to turn me into dust!”

 

“Stop paying attention to what  _ I’m  _ doing and just kill her already.”

 

“Guys,” Hunk pipes in, and he sounds agitated. “You can argue all you want when we’re done breaking through Haggar’s defenses. Keith— Oh. Oh, no, no, no. My lion’s K.O. This isn’t good. This is bad, this is really bad.”

 

“Hang in there, Hunk,” Keith drags his virtual character away from the main fray, trying to spot where Hunk’s hiding. “I’m on my way.”

 

It’s surprisingly easy.  _ Leading _ . Ever since Shiro came back a couple weeks ago, Keith’s rapidly grown comfortable in his new role. Maybe it’s Shiro’s guidance. Maybe it’s his encouragements. Or maybe Shiro’s been right all along and Keith  always had it in him to be  _ more  _ than what he thought he was. Supporting the team’s almost like wearing an old pair of shoes. They work extremely well together, but it’s more than that; they feel like the family he never had, and it’s  _ odd _ , how quickly they grew closer in the past few weeks. Like he’s known them for so much longer than he actually has.

 

“Keith! If Zethrid gets past me we’re gonna have TWO disabled lions.”

 

“You should be able to outrun her with Red, Lance,” Keith groans as he makes his way to Hunk, but Lance’s clearly struggling behind and Keith clicks his tongue; Zethrid’s about to get the upper hand. “Hunk. You okay there? We can’t lose Red, she’s our fastest advantage.”

 

“I’ll cover him,” Pidge announces, and her lion  _ charges _ , a fierce roar that she matches with a battlecry of her own.

 

Admittedly, it’s not the same without Shiro. Keith does well on his own, but Shiro knows the game mechanics by heart, and he’s the one who taught Keith everything. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t be able to play as much. He’s online, but  _ idle _ , and Keith keeps peeking at his name as though it’ll somehow summon him.

 

“Keeeeeeeeeeeeeeeith!”

 

“How are you so useless!” Keith sighs exasperated, spotting Lance behind broken barricades, and he’s outnumbered.

 

“Blue’s stopped moving!” Allura whines softly, and then groans. “Lotor keeps sending me private messages.”

 

“What does HE want?” Lance sounds positively indignated, and Keith grits his teeth— _now’s_ _not the time, Lance_. “We don’t need his fancy-pants assistance, if that’s what he’s offering.”

 

“Uhh, we kind of do? My lion’s still K.O., guys—Pidge, watch out!”

 

“It’s almost like Zethrid’s controlling all the NPCs around her. How does she do that?”

 

“It’s called  _ cheating _ , Pidge. Only reason why she won every single PVP round last wee— _ Keith _ ! I’m down to 500 HP. I won’t last much longer.”

 

“Keep shooting your arrows, Lance, and  _ don’t  _ let Lotor in.”

 

“Hey! You guys doing okay?”

 

“SHIRO!”

 

His name reverberates through the static, shouted in unison by the entire team. Keith dashes forth, the clatter of mouse and keyboard clicks louder in the room, as though Shiro’s voice gave both he and Lance a much needed morale boost. 

 

“Shiro,” he starts, and he can practically  _ hear  _ Shiro smile; it happens every time Keith displays a minimal amount of leadership skills, and his pride warms him all over. “Zethrid’s invaded our stronghold on Krell. We could use a hand.”

 

“I’ve got one to spare. Where do you need me?”

 

“We’re gonna have to take her down together. Where are you?”

 

“Hiding on the battlements.  _ Ugh _ . Ezor spotted me, hang on.”

 

“Guuuuuuuuuuuuuys!”

 

“Calm down, Lance! Okay. Shiro?”

 

“Yeah, got her. She was pretty low on HP.”

 

“Alright, I’m coming in hot!”

 

Keith  _ charges _ , lion in tow as a trail of fire blazes in his wake. Zethrid’s expecting him, as are the NPCs she’s somehow subjugated. It’s fine. Even if Ezor warned her of Shiro’s whereabouts, she doesn’t have enough time to react; Keith’s on her within seconds, but her HP bar won’t budge.

 

“We gotta kill the NPCs!”

 

Shiro’s already jumped off the battlements, fighting alongside Black as Zethrid’s subdued soldiers fall one by one. Her online persona grows frantic, seemingly indecisive as to where she should focus her attacks.

 

“Hunk? You still okay?”

 

“He got disconnected,” Pidge explains, and her tone is  _ odd _ . “And Haggar… retreated? Her druids just vanished.”

 

A server issue, maybe. Not the first one they’ve run into, and likely not the last. It’s just as well, because it gives him a chance to concentrate on getting rid of Zethrid, and with Shiro’s relentless assaults, her life points finally start going down. He’s slower than usual. Still good, like a top player should be, but his reflexes seem… a little sluggish, maybe. He’s out of practice, and Keith doesn’t linger on the thought; they still fight and move together instinctively, and ultimately, Keith manages to get the upper hand.

 

Zethrid collapses, and the remaining soldiers  _ flee _ , leaving their stronghold heavily damaged but free.

 

“Great job, team.”

 

“Be still, my heart,” Lance sighs dramatically, and Keith grins a toothy grin. “I think I’m in love.”

 

He swirls on his seat to add a whispered “ _ no homo _ ”, and Keith squints sideways, rolls his eyes, amused in spite of himself.

 

“Are you two…?” Allura’s voice echoes inquisitive through the speakers, and both he and Lance snort.

 

“Nah, he’s not  _ that  _ lucky, but if he had your voice, princess… I’d date him in a heartbeat.”

 

“Assuming I’d  _ want  _ to.”

 

“Um, who  _ wouldn’t _ ?” Lance gets up, wireless headphones still firmly secured on his head as he gestures in disbelief, making his way to the kitchen for a glass of water. “Oh, wait. Yeah. Keith’s already got a crush.”

 

“You... do?”

 

_ Shiro _ . Keith’s heart gives a hard  _ thud _ that he feels up his throat, jaw set on a momentary rush of panic. Out of all the things they’ve shared, it’s a subject they’ve never breached.  _ Relationships _ . It’s a non-written agreement of sorts, ever since Keith adamantly refused to hint at anything regarding romantic love, a few years ago. Shiro never pushed, never pried, keeping his own trysts to himself, as if to avoid putting Keith on the spot. But it’s how Keith feels now.  _ Cornered _ , and he glowers in Lance’s general direction, who simply shrugs unaware in turn.

 

“It’s sickening,” Lance goes on, a grimace as he winks and returns to his seat. “You should see them og—hey! Whoa, wait!  _ Keith _ !”

 

There’s a  _ scream _ , high-pitched as Keith makes an abrupt move to remove Lance’s headphones, but Lance fights him with the same amount of determination. This is off-limits. Takashi. Shiro.  _ Both _ . Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot  _ again _ , and Keith winds up on the floor with Lance, both wrestling for dear life. It’s friendly at best, competitive at  _ worst _ , but it’s void of any kind of animosity and Lance laughs his  _ heart _ out, successfully keeping Keith from strangling him.

 

“Ke...th… I… n’t… mu...”

 

_ Static _ . Shiro’s voice is disrupted, and Keith snaps his head up, Lance still trapped in a scarfhold. His computer screen  _ buzzes _ , and he squints at it as the colors shift and adjust, the face of a stranger flashing distorted across its expanse before clearing up. There’s a collective gasp in his ear; everyone’s seeing what  _ he  _ sees, and Lance cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the virtual intruder.

 

“What the—”

 

“Oh, hey! Hi guys. I have no idea how I turned this on, but I got disconnected for a while here and I… ha, I guess I’m back!”

 

“...Hunk?” Pidge tries cautiously, and Keith quickly lets go of Lance, narrowing his eyes at the screen for a better look.

 

He’s seen this guy before. Tall, hefty, with a smile as vivid as the joviality that emanates from him.  _ No way _ . Keith remembers him from the cafeteria, a student with a particularly refined palate, and he’s  _ loud  _ about it. How everything tastes or  _ should  _ taste, and if Keith absentmindedly thinks that  _ wow, this is such a small world _ , he’s in a for an even bigger  surprise.

 

Pidge’s video feed comes on, quickly followed by Allura’s, and Lance goes into  _ shock _ . He stops moving, jaw slack and lips parted, and then he clutches his chest, staring wide-eyed at Keith as if looking for answers that Keith doesn’t have. She’s  _ pretty _ . He can see that much, but more than that, Lance has seen her before, and it turns out that they’re all  _ here _ , in the same building. Keith’s pulse picks up the pace. It’s impatient, flowing wild in his veins, and his gaze drifts from the book on his desk to the messenger in the top left corner of his screen, air locked in his lungs.

 

Shiro’s online but  _ idle _ , just like he was before. His mic must have malfunctioned earlier, hence the static, and as the others plan to meet in the student lounge, the periphery of his vision  _ blurs _ , eyes dry from staring  at the screen for too long without blinking. His mind reels at a thousand miles a second.  _ What if _ . He doesn’t want his thoughts to go there, but he’s helpless to stop them; Takashi materializes in front of him, an illusion as he dreams awake, and the breath he releases is slow and unsteady.

 

“Keith?”

 

_ Lance _ . He’s still sporting a too wide smile when Keith looks up at him through his daze, knuckles white around the edge of his desk.  _ This is it _ . The line’s drawn and he doesn’t know how to cross it. Lance’s already texted Shiro to tell him where they were going, just in case, and Keith hesitantly grabs Takashi’s book, keeping it close to his chest as Lance urges him up. 

 

_ He’s not ready _ . Even as he prowls down the hall, his steps falter every so often, backward leaps in his chest.  _ What if _ . He could finally find out whether his heart’s been wrong once and for all, but he fears both the disappointment  _ and  _ the exhilaration that could follow. What’s he supposed to do, when he gains the knowledge he dreads and craves? This is just too  _ weird  _ and he wants to go back, but then he remembers Takashi’s soulful eyes and he walks  _ faster _ , and he braces himself for an impact that never comes.

 

Shiro doesn’t show up. Neither does Takashi, for that matter, and Keith quickly finds himself in the center of a tight embrace, Pidge and Hunk and Lance and Allura huddled around him. There’s tears involved,  _ laughter _ , and Keith’s lips quirk up of their own volition, feeling oddly at  _ peace _ despite an absence that rattles his nerves.  _ Friends _ . A merry band of misfits, and after a few moments, Keith manages to relax enough to sit with them, quieter than they are but  _ there _ , and it’s exactly what they expect of him.

 

It’s nice.  _ Fun _ , even, and he laughs on a few occasions, a faint sound that Hunk is quick to fawn over. They feel familiar in a way he wishes he could have experienced before, but all in all, he thinks they were worth the wait. Lance gapes the entire night, blushing redder every time Allura so much as peeks in his general direction. Puns abound, between him and Hunk, and Pidge rolls her eyes every time, thanking Keith for opening his mouth only when it matters. In a distant part of his mind, he feels as though she shouldn’t be here.  _ Too young _ , his brain wants to argue, but as with many things as of late, it’s a thought that doesn’t completely form, as if insidiously interrupted. There’s a lot of things around here that don’t really make sense, and when he stops to question them, there’s only fog to answer him, and he moves on with mild disquiet.

 

He adapts quickly, a buzz in the back of his skull that’s easily forgotten, and as time passes, he shoots brief, furtive glances over his shoulder, heart sinking lower with every peek. The book rests heavy in his lap, its weight punctuated by Shiro’s absence, and as his virtual-friends-turned-real start yawning one by one, he grabs his phone and messages him.

 

< **keith** >: where are you?

 

He can’t keep his eyes open. Lance’s already leaning against him, half-asleep, and as Keith expectantly turns one last time, slumber takes over and his head bumps against Lance’s, a blob of drool at the corner of his mouth.

 

He thinks of the sky. Of stars, space, and earthshine. And he dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and this is late as sin. my motivation kind of just... died for this particular fic, mostly because it's my first sheith fic and i didn't feel like i was doing them justice. i've been a little discouraged but i'm giving it another shot. let's see how it goes!

**[ KEITH ]**

  
  
  


It happens when he least expects it. When the crunch of autumn leaves ushers his footsteps and the sky of late November oversees the expanse of his self-made misery. It’s only been a week, but the weather has drastically changed, and his heavy heart mirrors its fall. 

 

Seven days of furtive glances toward the screen of his phone, of hopeful glimpses turned sour everywhere he goes, and it’s enough for Keith to feel like the sentient manifestation of a curse. The moment he walked down the hall and met with the rest of the team, both Shiro and Takashi vanished into thin air. It’s not unheard of. Every time he comes out of his shell, radio silence thwarts his call, a little like the chant of Earth’s loneliest whale.  _ 52-hertz _ , they call her. The pitch of her frequency is so high she swims undetected, doomed to skim the waters alone. Keith is like that. The only song he wants to sing reverberates through the vastness of space, never to be heard, and if the thought alone could rival every single one of Lance’s melodramatic antics, it does very little to curb the feeling.

 

There’s an odd case of impromptu fatigue plaguing the town. Keith’s fallen asleep in class again.  _ Twice _ . They  _ all  _ did, back in the student lounge, and Pidge was quick to remind Lance that Keith hadn’t just  _ given  _ them narcolepsia.  _ It’s not contagious,  _ and Keith wonders if Shiro’s succumbed to the same malaise. If Takashi followed suit somehow, but none of them are  _ sick _ . Not according to doctors, anyway. If the authorities aren’t worried, Keith  _ is,  _ for different reasons; it’s just another sort of mystical affirmation that singles out his peculiarities, and maybe he  _ is  _ some kind of corporeal malediction, after all, spoiling everything he touches or looks at.

 

_ Ugh _ . 

 

His scoff is lost in the breeze, narrowed eyes riveted on the indigo tinge of the sky above. He’s been sitting on a bench under the branches of a willow tree, one leg tucked under the other, and he’s yet to notice that it’s grown numb. His phone chimes. Three, four times; Lance’s personal notification sound scares off the nearby birds, and Keith sighs  _ deep  _ as his marker remains idle on a blank page of his sketchbook, a week-long dry spell. It fits the mystical theme of his reality, if he’s to be damnation incarnate, and he glances down to flip the pages, ignoring Lance as he stumbles upon a sunset.  _ The  _ sunset. An elusive vision in the back of his skull, and the colors aren’t right. They escape him like the haze of a dream caught in morning light and his face  _ shutters _ , a brusque roll of his wrist as he scribbles all over.

 

_ Beautiful _ . 

 

No, it’s  _ not _ , and his frown deepens as his focus sharpens, vaguely aware of his scarf billowing in the intermittent gusts of wind around him. There’s a pull. Something tugs at his shoulder, behind him—a branch, most likely—and he  _ yanks _ and it doesn’t come off, the indignant growl on his tongue abruptly cut-off by the curse teasing his ears.

 

_ Shit _ .

 

His head snaps up. His heart shoots  _ high _ , and he cranes his neck with the remnants of a scowl interrupted, ebbing away as his face goes slack.  _ Takashi _ . Like an apparition he’d stopped believing in, fiddling with the zipper of his schoolbag that somehow got stuck in the woolen weaves of Keith’s scarf. He’s real.  _ Here _ , promptly backing away the second he manages to untangle himself. He’s close still, but not too close as to impede on his personal space, as though he’s aware of Keith’s boundaries. His smile is more hesitant than frank, cheeks  _ flushed _ , and when Keith says nothing,  _ does  _ nothing, only stares wide-eyed as his rapid pulse disrupts his breathing, Takashi’s mouth takes on a downward curve, a hint of chagrin in the arch of his brows.

 

“I-I’m sorry,” he apologizes, and Keith’s frown is back in full, ears pricked up on faint recognition. “I know this might look weird, but I was just… walking by and… I didn’t mean to startle you or mess up your scarf. It’s fine, by the way. You’re fine—your  _ scarf _ . Your scarf is… fine. Uhm. A-And your drawing, it’s…”

 

...beautiful? He stops babbling, gestures toward his sketchbook, and Keith’s chin tips down to follow the motion of Takashi’s hand, an eyeful of pinks and oranges.  _ It’s beautiful _ , he said, when Keith wasn’t listening, and Keith swallows the swell in his throat, peeking at him through black strands of hair. That sunset can’t even measure up.  _ He’s  _ beautiful. Sublime and ethereal, with the white of his hair and slightly protruding ears, giving him a boyish look that’s both painfully handsome and ridiculously cute. And he’s talking to  _ him _ , with a voice that’s strangely familiar, fingers clenched around the strap of his schoolbag and right shoulder angled  _ back _ ... as if to hide an arm that isn’t there. 

 

Something stirs in Keith’s chest.  _ Sinks _ . His brooding inclinations melt away with the urge to reach for him, and he wants to tell him that it’s  _ okay _ but the word is wrong and he doesn’t know how to express what he feels. How to articulate that he’s missed him, or that he doesn’t mind about the arm. That he shouldn’t be  _ ashamed _ . He doesn’t even know him and Keith’s already embraced all that he is. It’s  _ absurd _ , but it makes sense, somewhat; it’s in the way Takashi makes everything feel so…  _ soft _ , the same way Shiro always has. They’re not the same. Keith  _ knows  _ that, but they  _ should  _ be, according to the whims of his heart, and it hardly seems fair to Takashi. It’s not his fault that Keith’s falling for him with the crux of another at the core of his affection and  _ god _ , he’s such a wretched mess. He feels the pull and he doesn’t know who he’s betraying anymore. Him, Shiro, or himself. 

 

Maybe all three, or maybe none at all, seeing as he doesn’t really know how  _ they  _ feel.

 

It’s not anything he can word—it barely makes sense in his own head—and in lieu of a response, he keeps staring. By the look Takashi gives him, altogether unsure and ready to bolt, Keith figures he’s probably light-years away from giving off friendly vibes…

 

...but he stays.  _ Somehow _ . Seemingly lost in the contemplation of his feet, until Keith realizes what’s actually caught his attention.  _ Pale Blue Dot _ . His  _ book _ , lying compromising next to him, on top of an animal encyclopedia. Takashi’s jaw twitches and he opens his mouth as if to say something but  _ doesn’t _ , glancing up to find what Keith hopes doesn’t look as hot as it feels.

 

“Uh—”

 

“You can keep it,” Takashi cuts him off before he can say anything of substance, maybe to save him from the embarrassment of having to admit that he’s carried it with him ever since he  _ took  _ it. “If you want.”

 

If he  _ wants _ . Experience tells him that no offer ever comes free, especially from a literal  _ stranger _ . Why would he just… lend him his book? He doesn’t even know his  _ name _ , and a wacky thought floats unwelcome in the back of his head, daubing his skin pink.  _ Maybe he just needs a reason to see you again _ , and Keith’s nostrils flare on stifled hope, and  he nods like a dumbstruck fool.

 

They have an audience. Passerbys walk past without a care, but  _ someone  _ is definitely watching. Keith doesn’t even have to turn. Lance snickers like a maniac a few trees away, and the sidelong glare Keith shoots him doesn’t amount to much of anything when it nearly collides with Takashi’s extended hand. He recoils instantly. Out of surprise, mostly, but it’s enough for Takashi to draw back a little, his tentative smile wavering.

 

_ Goddamn it. _

 

“I’m uh… I’m Takashi.”

 

And he remembers then, how Takashi inquired about  _ him _ , and he can only nod again, tripping over his own metaphorical feet. He can practically  _ hear  _ Lance:  _ Get a grip, man _ ! But the only grip he can get  _ should  _ be around Takashi’s offered hand, and he misses the opportunity. Maybe he stares too long. Maybe Takashi finally realizes that he’s not worth his time, and his arm moves out of reach, fingers curled around the back of his neck instead. There’s a darker flush across his cheeks—the same that’s saturated Keith’s face, probably—and Keith’s jaw clenches on a suppressed whimper, chest crowded with too much air.

 

“...Keith,” he finally says, like a relatively decent human being, and his voice sounds like he’s been yelling for hours on end, unable to produce anymore syllables.

 

What  _ is  _ he. It’s almost like he’s regressed back to cavemen ways, and he’s just short of martelling his own chest at this point. He doesn’t. Thank goodness for small mercies, and Takashi speaks again, a silent question that Keith catches in his eyes, now that he’s looking.

 

It’s almost immediate. Takashi’s expression shifts, brows pinched in a mix of awe and confusion, and honestly, he looks mildly alarmed. Not the kind of reaction Keith was expecting, and he almost feels like he should apologize. He can’t. Takashi searches his gaze with  _ intent _ and it leaves him even more speechless, if possible, heat spreading to his ears.

 

Takashi’s arm drops to his side. He leans in slightly, head cocked.  _ Keith _ , he mouths, and Keith blinks slow, unable to move. It feels like before. A strange kind of awareness, a magnetic pull, and his breath leaves him in a lazy, quiet sigh, mesmerized by the dark of his eyes.

 

“Wooooow, that wasn’t painful to watch at  _ all _ ,” another voice chimes in, and Keith shakes his head to shake off his daze, zeroing in on the  intruder.

 

Takashi’s friend—Matt, if memory serves—and Keith jerks back, side-eyeing him as Matt glances his way and wraps an arm around Takashi’s shoulders.

 

“Sorry to interrupt again, but… look, are you free this weekend?”

 

Wait, who?  _ What _ .

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Matt grins a cheeky grin, tapping Takashi’s shoulder in the kind of excitement that Takashi clearly doesn’t share. He’s  _ glaring _ , and for all the kindness that emanates from him, with his jaw set on a savage scowl, he looks positively  _ lethal _ . 

 

If Keith’s pulse pounds a little harder at the sight, he barely notices.

 

“Keith, right?”

 

...so he’s basically witnessed and heard everything then.  _ Wonderful _ . Keith nods wary, and Matt hums satisfied, one finger pointed at Takashi’s face, which is, quite frankly, drastically paler now.

 

“So this hot stud here? He won’t say it, but he’d like to get to know you.”  _ Thump. Thump _ .  _ Thump _ . He feels his heart in his  _ ears  _ and Matt shields his mouth to feign a whisper there is  _ no way _ Takashi will miss. “I’m sure you noticed that words aren’t his forte when it comes to you.”

 

“ _ Matt _ .”

 

“ _ You’re  _ not much of a talker either huh,” Matt adds with a pensive squint, and Takashi shoots Keith what looks like a desperate glance, half-apologetic and half-imploring, as if Keith has the slightest idea how to stop this mad man. He oddly reminds him of Lance, who’s most likely still snickering nearby and having the time of his life.

 

_ Argh _ .

 

There’s a click of tongue, followed by a sigh.  It’s Matt, who clearly just decided they were both—

 

“Hopeless. Both of you. Here.”

 

He grabs a pen from his pocket, unzips Takashi’s schoolbag and digs in for what Keith assumes to be paper, all the while struggling to keep Takashi from pulling away.  _ A-ha _ , and he finds a used notebook, a piece of torn sheet to scribble on. He rips it off, shoves it against Keith’s chest and  _ winks _ .

 

“That’s his number,” he says, and Keith fumbles to catch it as it flits down. “If you can’t talk, just  _ text _ .”

 

And it’s when it happens. The wind picks up and brown and orange leaves swirl around them, like a thin cocoon to shelter them for what’s to come. Matt’s already pushing Takashi in the opposite direction but he stubbornly stands there, Keith’s name on his lips again, his gaze a flustered mess of bafflement. The same question dances in his eyes.  _ Ask. Please _ . They’re on the verge of something here, and Keith’s pulse picks up,  _ harder _ , his mind a chaos of hopes and fears, the same ones he thinks he discerns in Takashi’s curious stare.

 

Matt answers for the both of them...

 

“C’mon, Shiro. You’re gonna be late again.”

 

...and Keith’s eyes grow  _ wide _ . Both of theirs, one last barrier to crumble between them as Keith inhales sharp, and all the colors in the periphery of his vision  _ blur _ . There’s only  _ him _ , a cautious acknowledgement as his sketchbook hits the lime-hued grass, his phone and his marker in tow, Shiro’s number pinched between trembling fingers.

 

“Shiro…?”

 

“ _ Keith _ .”

 

There’s no sound. It’s on their lips, the resonance of their names shaped like a heart stuck in a throat grown too tight, and Shiro’s dragged away but his eyes never stray, Keith staggering up as if to run after him.

 

_ S h i r o _ .

 

Takashi. Earthshine. One and the same. He barely notices Lance who walks past Shiro and Matt, but he feels his grip when he grabs his arm and lightly _ shakes him _ .

 

“Did he just say what I think he said,” Lance croaks, and Keith nods, staring ahead without really seeing anything anymore, sight clouded where Shiro used to be.

 

And everything that should make sense  _ doesn’t _ .

  
  
  


★ ✩ ★

  
  
  


“He’s in your classes, Lance. You can’t tell me you didn’t  _ know _ .”

 

“How was _ I _ supposed to know? Takashi and Shiro are two different names, man!”

 

They’ve been arguing for the past hour, all up in each other’s faces in the middle of their shared room. This is surreal. Too easy. Keith never gets what he wants, not without a  _ fight _ , and trying to process what it means is a little overwhelming. There are too many dots to connect, and so he stalls, lost somewhere between elation and consternation, deflecting his own emotions with pointless bickering.

 

_ Shiro _ . Finally a face on the man behind the erratic beats of his heart, a name behind its unsteady pulse, and so many unanswered questions. He’s missing an arm.  _ Why _ . His disappearance  _ then  _ and his silence  _ now _ , and the scar slashing his impossibly beautiful face. There’s so much he needs and dreads to know, and he sits restless on the edge of his bed, Shiro’s book in his lap. How has he never added up two and two? They’ve known each other by heart for so long, but he realizes now that there’s a plethora of  _ things  _ they’ve never really talked about. Actual names, for one—or Shiro’s, anyway. Locations. Occupations.  _ Love _ . Subjects broached in passing, never in details, and if it didn’t matter before, it does now. It’s always been an unspoken rule between them, not to  _ pry _ , but as time passed, Keith’s interest to know more about trivial things only grew. He never asked. Out of the same respect of each other’s privacy, and maybe Shiro felt the same. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe the way he cared for him never extended beyond virtual amity, and Keith groans into his palms, mattress sinking with the added weight of Lance sitting beside him.

 

“Takashiiii…ro?”

 

“ _ Shiro _ gane, you moron,” Keith sighs impatient, momentarily fisting his hair as he lies down with the breadth of his arms over his forehead, Lance’s light shove prompting another groan.

 

“Hey! I  _ told  _ you his name, it’s not like you were a genius there either, buddy.”

 

That’s… fair. But Keith’s been known to sabotage potential happiness. Driving people away, out of fear, out of self-deprecation... Subconsciously, maybe it’s what he tried to do. To conceal a truth he should have known, when his heart pounded the same for both. To spare himself unnecessary pain. He likes to think he’s not that  _ dense _ , but then again, maybe he can’t actually recognize joy for what it is. 

 

Why should he, when he doesn’t fully grasp what it’s supposed to  _ feel  _ like, to be happy?

 

“Aren’t you gonna text him?”

 

He’s purposely kept his phone out of reach  _ and  _ on silent, as if afraid Shiro might text  _ him _ . It’s stupid. Especially when he’s held onto his phone number ever since he arrived home, weighing more than it should between the pages of _ Pale Blue Dot _ . 

 

He clears his throat on a swallow, hands finding their way back around the book.

 

“...No.”

 

“Aw, come on, Keith!” Lance pokes him in the ribs, and Keith squirms away, book nestled against his chest as he lifts his legs to plant the sole of his feet into the bedding. “What’s there to be afraid of? Turns out the guy you’re crushing on  _ is  _ the other guy you’re crushing on. Your  _ best friend _ . What more do you want?”

 

A divine intervention, maybe, but if God does exist, He’s rarely ever been on his side.

 

“I can’t… do this right now.”

 

“ _ Keith _ .”

 

“What if he doesn’t  _ like  _ me.”

 

And there it is. Blurted out on impulse, a gruff half-whisper, and Keith keeps his gaze averted, refusing to meet Lance’s unimpressed stare as knuckles tighten around the book cover.

 

“And you say  _ I’m  _ obnoxious.”

 

“Oblivious.”

 

“Same difference!”

 

“You  _ are  _ obnoxious, though.”

 

“Keith!” Lance whines, hands up in the air as he wildly gestures in exasperation, and Keith would very much like to avoid this conversation. “ _ Not _ the point! We’re talking about you here.”

 

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

 

“ _¡Dios mio!_ Every time I think you couldn’t be more of a pain you prove me wrong. He _likes_ you, alright? And I’m really starting to wonder _why_.”

 

“You don’t  _ get  _ it,” Keith grouses between gritted teeth, and frustration rises as he sits up, but his annoyance is subdued, buried under too much uncertainty. Takashi liked him.  _ Maybe _ . And maybe Shiro did, too, but everything is different now, because he  _ knows _ . There’s no sense of secrecy anymore. No element of surprise, no dreamy preconceptions, no imagined fantasy. 

 

No  _ nothing, _ just  _ him _ , and he’s not sure whether that’s enough.

 

Lance stares expectantly, encouraging Keith to go on with one eyebrow arched too high. Voicing his internal turmoil never helped much of anything. It usually ends up sounding  _ lame _ ; he can’t ever find the right words, and it probably stems from the fact that what he feels is often difficult to pinpoint. He  _ does  _ know, now.  And no amount of fury will shield him from his own demons.

 

His face falls, a veil of black hair covering his eyes as they scrutinize the book in his hands. The same book Shiro’s read time and time again and held in his own palms, and the sigh that reaches his lips quietly empties his lungs.

 

“He  _ knows  _ it’s me.” The kid he’s helped grow into himself. The kid with ninety-nine problems and then some, grown crooked with a heart too large and no one to share it with.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I’m not just a face anymore,” Keith frowns hesitant, mild irritation in the sidelong glance he shoots him. “What if he’s… disappointed?” 

 

“That you’re… you?”Lance asks cautiously, and he looks altogether  _ puzzled _ , like Keith and he aren’t speaking the same language. 

 

_ For fuck’s sake. _

 

“That I’m the same guy he’s been talking to all these years!”

 

“...shouldn’t that be a  _ good  _ thing?”

 

“ _ Ugh _ , you just don’t—”

 

“Get it? Okay, save your breath here, buddy,” Lance shakes his head, and he scoots closer and Keith just  _ glowers _ , but Lance is undeterred. It’s always been a thing between them. He’s got that glint in his eyes, the same one that occasionally shows up whenever he’s about to lather him up in Lance-flavored wisdom, and Keith hugs Shiro’s book closer to his body, glaring warily. “You think I was disappointed when I saw Allura for the first time?”

 

Well…  _ no _ , but Allura is Allura, and Keith is…  _ Keith _ .

 

“I’d seen her before. We’ve  _ all  _ seen each other before, and I’m happy that she turned out to be… well,  _ her _ .”

 

“It’s not—”

 

“Are  _ you  _ happy that Shiro is Takashi?” Lance cuts him off, and Keith stares down his lap, huffing through his nose as his eyes flutter close. 

 

“Of  _ course  _ I am.”

 

“So what’s the big deal? It doesn’t have to be complicated, you know. Shiro’s always been there for you, man. And you for him. You’ve been tight for  _ years _ . Why would he suddenly  _ not  _ be into you?”

 

“Shiro’s not…”

 

...into him? Lance makes the facial equivalent of a very heartfelt  _ really? _ the second Keith catches his gaze, and he wonders, distantly, if he’s actually as dense as Lance makes it sound.

 

“Not gonna lie,” Lance chuckles to himself, legs crossed and leaning back, braced on his elbows. “It’s weird as  _ shit _ . What were the odds, huh? But take that as a sign, man. You were just meant to be~”

 

_ Well _ , his wise epiphany didn’t last long, replaced by the kind of mushy penchant that characterizes his overall personality, and Keith can easily handle that side of him. One roll of eyes and Lance’s already offended, lightly shoving him.

 

“Hey, the universe’s got plans for us. Me and Allura are  _ next _ .”

 

“You’re such a sap,” Keith mutters, and he doesn’t mean to, but a smile slowly emerges and Lance  _ notices _ , grinning in turn. 

 

“And  _ you  _ know I’m right. You’ve only ever had eyes… or  _ fingers _ , for Shiro, until Takashiro showed up.”

 

“Shirogane.”

 

“...right. My  _ point  _ is. It’s always been him, even when you didn’t know, and I bet you made yourself feel miserable over it but  _ look _ .”

 

_ No. No more wisdom _ .

 

“Chances are he digs both of you. I mean. Just  _ you _ , in the same disgusting way that you dig both of them.  _ Him _ . You know what I mean!”

 

“Disgusting way…?”

 

It’s Lance’s turn to roll his eyes, shuddering for show even though he  _ lives  _ for cheesy romance.

 

“The _ heart eyes _ , man,” he whispers, brows high in feigned horror. “It’s too much, even for me.”

 

“I don’t…”

 

But he  _ does _ . Every single time he’s looked at him,  _ stared _ , even beyond his frown, he knows something else has transpired. For all the stoicness he’s capable of, when Shiro has his eyes set on him, Keith  _ melts _ , and the thought prompts him to pluck his number from between the pages of the book, face scrunched up.

 

He’s never done anything like this before. Let’s say Shiro disgustingly  _ digs him _ . What does he  _ do  _ with that kind of knowledge? Does he ask him out? Does he… go with the flow? Remain the same Keith, with the same dynamic they’ve always had? Will their natural bond even be the same, once they face each other for the first time? Because knowing is definite. There’s no turning back from this, no escape, only them, and the piece of paper crinkles between his fingers, Lance’s hand a distraction around his shoulder.

 

“Come on, man. Text him. You’re a pain to watch when you’re agonizing.”

 

Keith looks up, a cautious glance towards his phone.

 

“Not now.”

 

“Alright,” Lance nods, mouth pursed as if lost in thoughts, but next thing Keith knows he’s smirking with all his teeth on display, and Keith’s throat closes on a rush of panic.

 

_ Don’t you dare _ . 

 

But he does,  _ dare _ , and he moves so fast Keith’s left fumbling to chase after him, his phone in Lance’s victorious hand.

 

“You leave me no choice!”

 

The bastard’s probably memorized his phone number somehow, and Keith tackles him to the ground, struggling against the squirming mess Lance’s become. He barely puts up a fight. This is nothing, as opposed to the kind of challenges Lance usually offers, and Keith gets his phone back nearly effortlessly, rushing to the bathroom to lock himself in.

 

...and it’s when he realizes it’s  _ exactly  _ what Lance was hoping for. Great job playing yourself,  _ Keith _ . He glares down the device in his hand, a wave of warmth and cold shooting through him as his focus sharpens on the unread in-game message he received.

 

_ Shiro _ .

 

He glances frantic across the room, a muffled whimper in his throat, and he doesn’t know what he’s looking for.  _ Help _ . But there’s only a shower here, towels, an overused rug and a dusty mirror that reflects a face he doesn’t recognize. It’s fright-ridden, an aggravated scowl to dissipate its apprehension, and he  _ breathes _ , fingers shaking as his thumb swipes up. 

 

Turns out he didn’t need his phone number, after all.

 

**< shiro  >** :  **keith? can you get back to me as soon as you get this? i’ll be around all night. please.**

 

_ Please _ . He exhales long and deep, leaning against the door as he holds his phone with both hands, light-headed. He was right  _ here _ , when Shiro came back to him. The same day he’d seen Takashi again and couldn’t get him out of his system. He was right here, with his grip too tight and his head too full, and how many times will they have to go through this, before words become insufficient, before the current between them sees the light of day, an acknowledgement of more?

 

Or  _ less _ ?

 

His thumbs hover hesitant over the virtual keyboard; he types as slowly as he breathes, and it’s a droning in the back of his skull, how much he wants this to be real.

 

**< keith >:** **i’m here**

 

The reply comes within seconds, and Keith can’t avert his gaze from the screen, no matter how loud his heart urges him to.

 

**< shiro >:** **keith, i… do you have some time to talk?**

 

So many questions cross his mind. So many concerns, and even though he’s never hidden anything from Shiro, here he wears a layer more, a kind of apathy he doesn’t feel.

 

< **keith >:** **i’m locked in the bathroom, i’ve got all night**

 

< **shiro >:** **huh, that explains why the speech i had prepared went down the toilet the second you messaged me**

 

< **keith >:** **what?**

 

< **shiro** **> :** ... **i’m sorry, that wasn’t even remotely funny**

 

_ Please stop apologizing _ .

 

< **shiro >:** **just. okay, let me start over**

 

**< shiro >: i...  ran into a guy i’ve been thinking about a lot lately, and i’m not sure how to apologize to him**

 

_ Oh _ .

 

**< keith >: why do you feel like you should apologize for anything?**

 

**< shiro >:** **many reasons. for making an ass out of myself, for one. multiple times. for leaving him in the dark. for not being able to be there as much as i wish i could be. for... staring too much, maybe**

 

Keith swallows hard, blinking fast.

 

**< keith >: you know if you just told him why, maybe he’d understand**

 

**< shiro > : why i was MIA? or why i… stare too much**

 

_ It doesn’t have to be complicated _ . Lance’s words, not his, but maybe complicating everything is just… some sort of self-defense mechanism. Maybe it’s just making it harder to fall prey to temptation, to  _ what ifs _ , but Shiro asks the wrong questions and Keith falls anyway, headfirst.

 

**< keith >: why do you?**

 

**< shiro >: well, i’m… not sure how anyone could look anywhere else when you’re around**

 

_ You _ . It’s just one word, but it’s a clear acknowledgement, and it means everything. Beyond physical appraisal—which doesn’t go unnoticed, an odd and low thrum in his belly—Shiro  _ accepts  _ him, and Keith momentarily beams in a quiet daze, flashes of his eyes locked into his, of smiles exchanged and stolen glances  _ caught _ , and he’d give anything, right now, to have Shiro right in front of him again. 

 

_ Close _ .

 

No matter how sweaty his palms have grown, a hot chill down his spine.

 

**< shiro >: look, keith. i don’t know how you feel about this, but i want you to know that it doesn’t change anything for me**

 

Doesn’t it change  _ everything _ ?

 

**< shiro >: wait. let me rephrase that**

 

_ Breathe _ .

 

**< shiro >: you’re still keith to me. i was hoping that you’d be him. i mean… you**

 

**< shiro >: the circumstances are pretty weird, i’ll give you that… but i’m glad that you’re… who you are**

 

_ I’m glad that you’re who you are _ , and Keith’s gaze snaps up, anguish creasing his face as he distantly stares into his reflection. He’s known him for  _ years _ , but there’s so much he doesn’t know. Shiro had a boyfriend, not long ago. Someone he loved in a way he can’t possibly love  _ Keith _ . Wouldn’t he have told him before, if he did? Before he disappeared, back when Keith felt the first tremors of infatuation. Before Takashi even came into the picture. Keith never told him, either, and  _ sure _ , that’s  _ fair _ , but it’s not the same. Keith’s never had  _ others _ . It’s always been  _ him _ , whereas Shiro…

 

His jaw clenches, a loosened grip around his phone. It’s hard to tell, where he fits into the equation.  _ If anywhere _ . He never wanted to assume. To  _ hope _ . It’s something he’s held close to his heart for the longest time, left dormant until it could bloom freely, and now that the subject’s finally been broached, he can’t make heads or tails of what Shiro’s trying to tell him.  _ Love _ . It’s a foreign thing, a word he understands but rarely ever experienced, and he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to feel. All he knows is that he’s never longed for anyone the same way he’s ached for Shiro, and he can’t fathom how Shiro could reciprocate the depth of his heart, if he left him for another. 

 

The heaviness in his chest is unwelcome, and he sighs, his phone vibrating in his hands.

 

**< shiro >: keith? i’m sorry, did i say… something wrong?**

 

The line between his brows deepens, a rough kind of pressure lodged in his throat.  _ Friends _ . It’s what they’ve always been, and despite the hint of interest he thought he’d discerned through Shiro’s virtual behavior, despite the gentle attraction he thought he’d seen in his eyes, maybe it’s all they’ll ever be.  _ It’s a good thing _ . Shiro’s made it clear over and over, even now, that Keith is welcome in his life, and it’s enough. It’s what he tells himself as his nostrils flare, a tangible lump in his chest that makes it a little harder to breathe.

 

_ He likes you, alright _ . But Keith doesn’t know how to be loved.

 

**< keith >: no. i’m glad that you’re you too**

 

It’s a simple and unconditional truth he feels in his bones, but he took too long to reply. It’s the only explanation for what comes next, Shiro’s uncertainty transpiring through the typed apology.

 

**< shiro >: i know the arm is kind of creepy, i should have properly warned you **

 

**< shiro >: there’s many things i should have done, actually. or shouldn’t have, for that matter**

 

**< keith >: shiro, i don’t care about your arm**

 

_ Argh. _

 

**< keith >: it just doesn’t bother me, not the way you think it does**

 

**< keith >: i care about ** **_you_ ** **. and i did way before i ever saw you**

 

Thirty seconds.  _ Fifty _ . Three whole minutes go by without a response, and in the midst of all his worries, Keith agonizes over his last statement, wondering whether it was too bold.  _ It doesn’t mean anything _ . Except it  _ does _ , and right on cue, Shiro answers with an abundance of  _ hope  _ laced around the words.

 

**< shiro >: keith… there’s so much i need to tell you, and i ran long enough**

 

**< shiro >: would you mind meeting up?**

 

**< shiro >: i promise i can talk… and i’d just really like to see you again**

 

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

 

**< keith >: where?**

 

**< shiro >: anywhere. just say when**

 

**< keith >: 20 mins. willow tree?**

 

**< shiro >: i’ll be there**

 

And out of those twenty minutes, Keith braces himself over the sink for a good dozen, Lance’s speakers spitting out lyrics at full volume through the door:

 

_ I wanna know what love is _

_ I want you to show me _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still super new to the fandom so please come flail with me, it's extremely lonely around here! find me on twitter or tumblr @ elfrooted ❤


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